


A Thief's Vow

by SpencerRemyLvr



Series: The Thief's Bride [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad William, Gambling, Guildmaster Remy, I suck at tagging, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Master Thief Remy, Not Like That, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Remy doesn't love Belle, Young Spencer, college student Spencer, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpencerRemyLvr/pseuds/SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer's been paying his father's debts since he was just a child. Now, to keep his mother safe, he'll pay the biggest price of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be one long epic BUT I suck at writing anymore, so, to make it easier on myself I'm making a series becuase that has smaller, easier to fulfill goals. I hope y'all are okay with that! (Oui, je sais, ANOTHER series J, blaaagh)
> 
> At least I have this first story in the series done, except for half of the last chapter :)

“Dis is such bullshit!”

Twenty five year old Remy LeBeau paced his office and growled furiously as he fought the tingle of a familiar charge building in his hands. His temper was through the roof right now and that always adversely affected his powers. That’s why he was usually so careful to keep his emotions at least somewhat under control. But right now, there was no way he could keep a leash on his temper. The phone conference he’d just had with his father had guaranteed that.

Scowling, the young Master Thief, heir apparent to Jean-Luc LeBeau—Guildmaster of the New Orleans Guild and Patriarch of the Thieves Guild itself—was currently living up to his title of ‘Prince’ by throwing a tantrum of epic proportions. He stormed around his office and kicked at random furniture while trying very hard not to blow anything up. “I can’t believe it.” Remy snarled out, kicking a chair so hard it bounced against the far wall. “Dey can’t make me do dis. Dey can’t!”

Over at the side of the room, his head of security and personal bodyguard, as well as rather close friend, stood with his shoulder propped up against the wall, watching Remy’s fit with the air of someone who was used to such things. Tall, a few inches over Remy’s six foot four inch frame, and with a solid build, Timothy Miscall was a force to be reckoned with when needed. He was a Thief, the same as Remy, and a good one despite what his sheer size and almost military look, straight down to the buzz cut, would suggest. But he’d chosen to turn his skills towards the Guards instead of trying to become a Master Thief. His serious face rarely showed a smile, though those who knew him knew how to read the humor in his bright blue eyes. He and Remy knew one another well. Timothy had been guarding the Prince for seven years now, ever since Remy had first come to Las Vegas to train underneath Guildmaster Evans, and in that time the two had become close. Timothy protected him not just because he was ordered to. Remy had earned his loyalty, a thousand times over.

Remy’s father had sent him here after trouble back home had almost cost Remy his life. There weren’t many that knew the details. All that was known was that one moment, Remy had been engaged to the daughter of the Assassins Guildmaster, and the next thing they knew the engagement was off and there’d been a bounty on his head, and eighteen year old Remy was being shipped off to Vegas. The plan had been for the thief to train and learn about how to properly be a Guildmaster, helping to prepare him for taking over for his father one day. But when Guildmaster Evans had died two years back—a heart attack, they said, though rumors suggested something more—the young Prince had stepped up to the plate. In his time here in Vegas he’d earned his Master title He ran the Vegas Thieves Guild now with the help of the second-in-command, Marc Fontenot. But Remy wasn’t technically the Guildmaster. He’d had to wait first until he was twenty five. Now that he was of age, his father had explained to him the final steps in what was required of him if he truly wanted to be a Guildmaster and stay in charge of this Guildhouse—which was the reason for the fit that Remy was currently throwing.

“Why de hell didn’t anyone tell me dis sooner?” Spinning, Remy kicked the next chair so hard it cracked against his desk. He twisted back around to scowl over at Timothy. He held one finger up in the air. “One week! He tells me I got one week to announce my engagement if I wanna be Guildmaster here, or else m’ engagement to Belle is back on. To _Belle_!” Throwing his hands up, Remy dropped down onto the only chair left standing. “What de hell am I gonna do?”

“You could pass this place over to Marc. If you aren’t trying for Guildmaster, they can’t force you to marry.” Timothy suggested. His tone was dry, though, and held no real belief that Remy would do such a thing. He knew the Cajun far too well for that.

Sure enough, his suggestion earned him one hell of a scowl. “Like hell, Timmy. I’ve busted m’ ass at dis place. I aint giving it up.”

It was true, too. Remy had worked and trained hard from the minute he’d come to Vegas. Quite a few people had expected the princeling to come here with a swelled head and no true skill like some of the rumors suggested. They’d expected a spoilt brat who had gotten in trouble and was being sent away from home as a punishment. Remy had proved them wrong. He’d advanced through his training quicker than anyone and had achieved Master status years before anyone else in his age group. He’d proved time and time again that he had what it took to be a thief. Oh, he had an ego; there was no doubt about that. He was cocky, arrogant, had a nasty temper when provoked, was an admitted rogue, and a right little shit when the mood suited him. But he was also smart—far smarter than he let on—charming, and kind. He was loyal, and inspired the same loyalty in others. When Evans had passed on, Marc had been content to stay second-in-command and allow Remy to step up, despite his young age.

“You could always just drop out for a few years, give yourself time to actually find someone.”

“I worked too hard to just walk away, even fo’ a bit.” Plus, they both knew that holding a place for Remy here just wouldn’t work. If he left, he’d be handing this over, and there’d be no getting it back. Sighing, Remy dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I never planned on getting married. How de hell am I gonna find m’self someone in a week, Timmy?”

“You really wanna saddle yourself to someone for the rest of your life just to keep your father off your back?” Timothy asked.

No, Remy did _not_ want to saddle himself to someone. He didn’t want to marry anyone at all! But ever since the day that Jean-Luc had adopted the ten year old boy who had tried to pick his pocket on the streets of New Orleans, the little boy had been raised and groomed to one day take over. He’d been trained to be who he was now. Becoming a Guildmaster was all he’d expected in life, all he’d planned for. It was everything he wanted. If he didn’t marry, he’d be giving that all up, walking away from a life that he loved. If he wanted to keep it, he either had to marry someone of his own choosing, or he’d finally have to give in to his father’s demands and marry BellaDonna Boudreaux in a political move meant to unite the Thieves and Assassins guilds into one. It was a move his father had wanted for as long as Remy could remember, and one that Remy had gone along with for years, right up until a week before what would’ve been their wedding.

Calling off that wedding hadn’t done Remy any favors back home. His family was upset, understandably so, and the Assassins were furious. Sending Remy here to Vegas had been one of the only ways to keep them from killing him. Even then, Remy had had to be careful over the years and fend off more than one Assassin who either sought to avenge Belle’s honor, or were sent at her behest. It was kind of a toss-up. Even back when they were happy, or pretending to be happy, Remy had never been quite sure if Belle wanted to kiss him or stab him. Knowing her, it had probably been both.

But Remy had built a life here. He’d worked damn hard to make himself at home here in Vegas. This was home to him now. Even if he missed New Orleans some days, this was home. This was the life he’d made for himself. He wasn’t going to give that up. The members of the Guildhouse here respected him. He’d fought hard to earn that respect on his own merit, not just the merit of his name or title. It hadn’t been easy.

Guildmaster Evans had trained Remy for this. He’d helped him get to the position that he was. And he’d named Remy successor for him when he passed away. He’d even left his business to Remy in his will. The Dusty Rose, a gentleman’s club—not a stripper kind of club, but the classier kind, the kind with booze and cigars and card games and rooms that people could rent for business or pleasure, and bad men in business suits—served as both their Guildhouse, and Remy’s home, but as a legitimate business through which the Thieves could launder the money they earned on their jobs. It offered them financial protection and worked as a perfect cover for the many meetings that Remy and his Council—the five top ranking Master Thieves in Vegas—had with one another, and with potential clients.

The three story building worked perfectly for them. The top floor, the penthouse, was Remy’s private office as well as what they referred to as the Council Room. The second floor was all the rooms that they rented out to their clients, places where they could have card games, or meetings for their ‘cigar clubs’, or countless other things. And the downstairs was the bar, with plenty of open tables and a stage for live entertainment.

They had another building, a private building, in a very different part of Vegas. This, they used for training, though it took had its own cover. If pushed, it was just a simple gym—membership only.

Evans had created quite a safe place here in Vegas for his Guild. When Remy took over, he promised to do everything in his power to keep it that way. If that meant marrying someone he didn’t know to keep this place safe, he would do it. No matter what.

* * *

Work had to be done and it kept Remy busy over the next couple days. He was constantly aware, however, of the deadline waiting on the horizon. With each day that passed without him finding someone, or some other way around this, he was one day closer to being put into a marriage he wanted desperately to avoid. But no matter where or how he looked he just couldn’t seem to find anyone in his life that he was willing to tie himself to.

It was three days after the call with Jean-Luc that Timothy came to Remy with a chance at a solution.

Remy had been in his office doing paperwork when Timothy came to relieve the guard on duty. However, instead of just taking up post, he actually knocked to come inside. His presence was a bit of a welcome distraction. Remy put down the figures he’d been trying to balance and happily looked up, hoping that the man was here with something that would take him away from this. “Timmy, cher, y’ got de best timing. I feel like m’ brain’s gonna bleed out m’ ears if I gotta keep running dese numbers.”

Chuckling, Timothy came close enough to the desk to take a peek. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

“Pfft. Aint never gonna get used to dis boring shit.” Sitting back in his chair, Remy folded his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up on the desk. “So, what’s up? What brings y’ into m’ office dis fine day?”

“You remember my cousin Juju?”

The question wasn’t what he’d expected but it was an easy one to answer. A smile touched Remy’s lips. “ _Oui_ , how could I forget?” The kid certainly made an impression. He looked like Timothy’s exact opposite. A bit on the skinny side, and short enough that the top of his head barely came to Remy’s chin, he was flamboyant where Timothy was subdued. He was a hooker, and not at all ashamed of it, and he had both an easy laugh and a bright smile that just kind of lit up the room. The kid was a walking gay stereotype, from the heeled shoes to the colorful leggings and flashy jewelry, right up to the black hair often pulled up in a bun held together by chopsticks. What people didn’t realize about him was that those chopsticks could easily turn into weapons that Juju could wield with a deadly accuracy. He handled blades better than anyone Remy had ever seen.

“Well, he might’ve brought me a solution to your problem.”

That got Remy’s attention. He sat up a little straighter and his eyes sharpened as they focused in on Timothy. “Oh?”

Timothy’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “Thought that might get your attention.” He shifted his stance to one a bit more relaxed and hooked his thumbs loosely in his pockets. “I was talking to Ju last night and he told me about a friend of his that needs help. Apparently, this kid’s Dad bailed on him years ago, left him with a mentally ill Mom to take care of and bills to pay. Ju didn’t say how, but the kid gets by. Gets the bills paid, even went off to college.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine the ways someone would make ends meet in a situation like that. Remy knew what it was like to do what was necessary to survive.

“The thing is, his old man’s a gambler, and they’ve hit the kid up more than once to cover his Dad’s debts.”

“Someone don’t pay, dey aint afraid to go after de family.” Remy said lowly. It was a practice he wasn’t fond of and one he didn’t encourage. If a client didn’t pay them, there were other ways to get money, ways that didn’t involve going after someone’s wife and kids.

The glare on Timothy’s face showed his agreement with Remy’s opinions. “Yeah. But the kid’s paid, each time. Only, this time, Juju says the guys want three mil, an there’s no way in hell some twenty year old kid’s gonna get together three mil. He needs someone to help pay off his debts. Someone who can keep him and his Mom safe from assholes like this coming back.” He must’ve been able to read the protest building on Remy’s lips because he quickly held up a hand. “Just hear me out, Rem. I know he doesn’t sound like much, but he’s more than you think. He’s no stranger to the life—he knows about the Guilds. Ju says he’s damn handy with a knife and a lot sneakier than he looks, plus he’s smart. He’s already got two doctorates to his name plus a few other degrees, an he’s working on a third doctorate. But Ju says he’s also loyal and he’s the type to honor any agreement he makes, no matter what the cost. He won’t marry you and then bail, and he won’t come in and screw up your life or your work. Just, give him a chance before you say no. Meet with him at least. What’s it gonna hurt? Unless you’ve found something better.”

It was the last comment that stopped any protests Remy might’ve had. He sat back in his chair and stared at his security guard and friend. Not once had Timothy led him astray in the years that they’d known one another. He’d always had Remy’s back no matter what. He wouldn’t bring him something if he didn’t think it was worth checking out. Plus, like he said, what would it hurt? Remy certainly hadn’t found anything better and they both knew it.

“What’s his name?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”


	2. Chapter 2

The bus ride from California to Las Vegas wasn’t a long one. Just seven hours, give or take about a half an hour depending on traffic and any stops along the way. For twenty year old Spencer Reid, it felt like an eternity. This was one of those moments that he wished desperately that he had a car. Or even a friend who would let him borrow a car. Anything that would get him back home faster than this. The time spent on the bus waiting to get back home was time spent worrying and wondering and hoping that everything was going to be okay.

Anyone who looked at him would’ve been able to see that the lanky boy curled up in his seat, staring out the window while chewing on his lip, was in some sort of distress. No one bothered him. Not that many did anyways. Spencer knew what kind of image he presented and it wasn’t the kind that really drew much attention. Blending in had always been easy for him. He was tall and skinny, with shaggy brown hair that looked in constant need of a haircut, and big matching brown eyes that a friend told him gave him a wide eyed innocent look. His eyes, however, were often covered by the glasses he wore while working, which were extremely important if he wanted to see smaller details. He only had to use them for reading and for small, detailed work, thankfully. But pairing those with the slacks, button ups and vests he frequently wore, he ended up looking like the stereotypical image of a _nerd_. Which, really, fit him. He was only twenty years old and had been attending Caltech since he was fourteen. He already had two doctorates and two B.A.’s to his name, and was in the process of working on a third doctorate. He couldn’t really deny that ‘nerd’ fit him.

School was where he was rushing from now, hurrying to get home. He’d been in his dorm room the night before when his cell phone—a phone he’d gotten for emergencies and which he always made sure to keep minutes on—had rang. Only two people had that number and when Spencer had seen that it was his mother, he’d prepared himself for trouble before he even hit the button to answer. Calls from Diana usually were trouble. It wasn’t her fault, really. Diana had been sick for as far back as Spencer could remember. She was a paranoid schizophrenic who didn’t often remember to take her medications and who occasionally flat out refused to take them. Phone calls from her could be simple, just normal conversation between the two of them, or they could be full of paranoid ramblings that the young genius would spend hours trying to soothe back down.

This call? This call had been neither. The things that Diana had said had been enough to chill Spencer's blood. Spencer had been her sole caretaker since he was ten years old. He knew her well enough to know when something was a delusion and when something had the chance of being real. This? This was definitely real.

“Spencer, these men showed up at our house!” she told him, the panic in her voice so clear. “They said your father owes them money. I told them we hadn’t seen him in years, but they didn’t listen to me. Then they wanted to talk to _you._ What’s going on, Spencer? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

It’d taken only an hour to find someone to get him to a bus station and to leave messages to his professors as well as his advisor letting them know that he had an emergency and would be gone for the next week. Then, without even hesitating, Spencer set out for home. The whole bus ride home, he was free to think about what his mother had said and what it was he was going to do. It was all of Spencer's worst fears. All the things he worried about happening when he left for school, the things that had almost kept him from pursing his education, all wrapped up in one phone call.

William had left his family when Spencer was just ten years old. That didn’t mean that he’d gone far, or that the men he owed money wouldn’t come looking to his family to help pay.

The first time strange men showed up at the front door of the Reid household looking to get a little of their own back from a man who had stiffed them for far too long, Spencer had been twelve. Just a child. One who, sadly, had understood who the men were at the door, even if he hadn’t quite understood what it was they wanted. He’d been too innocent; too naïve.

Seven days later they brought him back home. He wasn’t so innocent or naïve anymore.

Thrice more over the next five years, people had stopped by demanding money that William owed them, looking to either get paid by his family, to use them for leverage to force him to pay, or to take a little of their own. But Spencer was smart. He had a genius IQ, years spent cleaning up after and taking care of an alcoholic gambler, and a hell of a lot of determination to protect his mother. Each time that the men showed up at the door, Spencer had the money for them. He hated it—hated it with every fiber of his being—but there was no way he’d let them take his mother and do to her what had been done to him. No matter what it took, he made sure he had the money. The third and final time, he hadn’t had enough, but he had enough practice under his belt to be able to wheel and deal with the best of them, earning himself a week to come up with the money. Somehow, he’d managed it. How he’d managed it might not have been exactly _legal_. But the point was that he’d done it. Somehow, he’d always managed it.

Then, after that last time, the visits had stopped. There was no one stopping by for money, no bookies or thugs or terrifying gangsters coming to demand that a woman and child pay the debt of a man who they hadn’t seen in so long—who didn’t even come back to acknowledge the sacrifices his son had made for him. That was, if he even knew at all.

The visits stopped and, after three years of peace and quiet, Spencer had thought for sure that he was finally free. That he and his Mom were safe.

Stupid mistake.

All it took was one phone call to change everything. Now Spencer was rushing home, once more trying to force his brain to think of something, anything, to get him and his mother out of a situation they should’ve never been forced into. Sadly, as much as he hated it and as angry as this all made him, he couldn’t say that it was a surprise. There was a part of him that had been waiting for something like this to happen. What _was_ new and entirely unexpected was the sheer _amount_ of the debt presented to him. The number that Diana had told him had been enough to have Spencer dropping down onto his bed. He hoped fervently that the number she’d given him was wrong. That maybe she’d misheard them. Because if it was right, they were in so much trouble.

Three million. They wanted _three million_. The number was mind boggling. He’d never had to pay more than a hundred grand, at most, for any of his father’s debts. But _three million_? How the hell was he supposed to have that? How was he supposed to get that kind of money together in the _week_ that they’d given her? There was no way he’d be able to do it. No way at all.

All the plans that Spencer had been building for himself were gone with just that one phone call. Once more, his father’s problems, his father’s debts, were taking away from Spencer.

Spencer pressed his face against the window beside him and stared unseeing at the passing landscape while deep inside he grieved for everything he was about to lose.

There was no way he could go back to school after this. Wasting time at school earning degrees that would get him nowhere wasn’t doing him or his mother any good. All of their savings were going to go into trying to pay this debt and hopefully buy Spencer some time to come up with the rest of the money. He was going to have to dip into the savings he’d been building for years in the hopes of being able to one day get his Mom the proper care she needed. The type of place that she needed to be didn’t come cheap. Insurance would only cover half. He’d been saving up for the rest. Now—now that money would go to pay the debts of a man who had abandoned them.

Closing his eyes, Spencer drew in a shaky breath. He thought of the conference he’d attended last week and the conversation he’d had with Jason Gideon afterwards. He thought of the open discussion the two had had and Jason’s blatant attempts to convince Spencer that a job with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit was possible for him. Even when Spencer had been openly candid with the man about the fact that he was a mutant, something that Spencer shared with no one, Jason had simply waved away his concerns like they were nothing and told him that there were ways to work around that. The man hadn’t asked what it was that Spencer could do, for which the young genius was grateful. One of his closest friends had warned him once that letting people know that he was a ‘technopath’—someone who could control, communicate, and mentally manipulate electronics and machinery, at such a deep level that it was almost like he could bring them to _life_ —wasn’t something that people needed to know. “People are gonna react two ways if they find out.” His friend told him. “They’re either gonna be scared of you and all the things you can learn about them just by touching a computer, or they’re gonna wanna use you, and neither one of those is a good choice. Just, keep it secret.”

So, Spencer had. He’d never told anyone else about what he could do. He kept it secret and hidden and tried to mask his abilities under the cover of his genius. It was one of the things that had led him to a doctorate in Engineering. Not only did that help him have a more practical understanding of some of what his powers could do, it gave him a small cover for those moments that he slipped up a bit and did something that he shouldn’t be able to.

Spencer would’ve told Jason, though, if the man had asked. He would’ve been honest with him and told him what he could do. Only, Jason hadn’t asked. He’d just told Spencer that they could work around it and that no one else need know.

The idea of becoming a profiler, of putting his knowledge and his skills to use to help catch serial killers and save lives, it was an appealing one. It was such a step up from the life Spencer had lived so far. It was a step up away from the gambling and the bookies, the thugs and the dangerous life that Spencer had been forced into simply because he was related to William Reid. If he took that job, it’d be real, gainful employment. Honest work. Nothing like the things Spencer had done to earn money in the past. This, it’d be real, _good_ work.

Now those dreams were gone. Left behind in the dust of this bus as it brought him closer and closer to home. A job at the Bureau wasn’t in his future anymore. Not after this.

If he couldn’t come up with the money to pay these people, Spencer was terrified that he wouldn’t _have_ a future. At all.

* * *

Finally making it home didn’t lessen Spencer's problems any. In some ways, it kind of made them worse.

Spencer had never felt as much anger as he did when he walked through the front door of his mother’s house and found her sitting in the living room with a bruise that took up a good half of her face. “Mom!” He couldn’t help himself and he simply dropped his bags right there in the front hall and he rushed straight over to her, going down to his knees in front of her. His hands came up to gently cup her face and turn her just enough that he could see the bruising. “What happened? You didn’t tell me they hurt you.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Diana said softly. There was a quaver to her voice, a sort of look in her eyes that Spencer was all too familiar with, and those things clued him in to what her frame of mind was.

With gentle coaxing he drew her up out of her chair and got her down the hallway to where her bedroom was. The state of the room was no real surprise. Books were strewn everywhere and there were notebooks here and there full of jotted down ideas and half formed lesson plans. Spencer circumvented all these things with an ease born of long time practice and he got his mother into bed and had the blankets tucked around her. As she settled, he stroked a hand over the side of her face, brushing some of her hair back from her eyes. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mom.” He whispered to her. “I’m home now. I’ll take care of you.”

A few low, musical beeps drew Spencer's attention up from his mother’s face and he smiled a little as he saw a familiar shape on his mother’s nightstand. The mechanical caterpillar that he’d built for his mother sat there, its front half lifted and its eyes on Spencer. The caterpillar—or Charlie, as his mother had christened it—was one of Spencer's earlier inventions, something that he’d made back when he’d been learning about his powers and how to use them to not only create little gadgets and things, but how to install different types of programming. Charlie was his first experiment in artificial intelligence and, as such, he wasn’t perfect. At least not by other people’s standards. He was, however, perfect for Spencer, and perfect for Diana.

He’d made Charlie for her as a sort of lark at first. Spencer had picked a caterpillar because one of his earliest memories had been reading “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” with his mother. When he made him, he programmed him to do a few different things. First, he’d programmed him for music, because there was nothing that soothed Diana more during one of her episodes than some familiar music. The panels along his body—which had taken Spencer quite a lot of rummaging in dumpsters and even a trip or two to the scrap yard—were set to change colors even when his music played. Spencer had downloaded a bunch of music to the little caterpillar, all sorts of songs from many genres, but here they’d come across Charlie’s first quirk. Spencer had a feeling it had something to do with the AI. He’d made Charlie as real as he could, as well as he’d known to do at thirteen, and in doing so he’d given the machine a bit of a personality of his own. Charlie had apparently decided that he only liked children’s music and that was all he played, no matter how many songs Spencer uploaded to him.

Over the years, Spencer had added other things to the caterpillar. Things which allowed him to use him to check in on his mother, to use a computer and view through Charlie’s eyes so that he could check on her and make sure that she was all right. He’d improved his appearance, too, so now his body was actually green most of the time and his eyes a light blue to match his dark blue mouth, as well as his dark blue legs. He looked innocent enough, a simple child’s toy to anyone else. To Diana, he was a companion, something to watch over her and to help keep her calm when she was upset, and to entertain her sometimes on the days or nights when she was most lonely while Spencer was gone.

Spencer reached out to Charlie and ran a hand over his back. Charlie wasn’t huge, though he wasn’t tiny. He was just slightly smaller than Spencer's forearm. “Hey Charlie.” He reached out with his powers and gave a silent sort of greeting to the small creature. In response, Charlie played a happy little melody that Spencer recognized as his ‘welcome home’ song and he briefly nuzzled his face against Spencer's hand. Smiling, Spencer drew his hand back. “Look after her.” He said, gesturing towards Diana. The little beeps that Charlie gave signified his agreement.

It took an hour for Spencer to get the house in order and the messes that he found cleaned up. He wasn’t surprised, though he was saddened, to see that the cupboards held barely any food.

A look in at his mother showed that she was still out and experience told him she’d be out for a little while longer. He grabbed the keys off the counter, his cell phone and his wallet, and then he was out in their old station wagon and heading down to the grocery store. He didn’t like leaving her alone so soon after getting home but he wanted to be able to have something for her to eat when she woke up. It was obvious to him she hadn’t been eating right lately.

The mindless chores didn’t really distract him from the reasons that he’d come home. Even as Spencer shopped, his brain was working, trying to think of anything and everything he could that might be able to help him save his mother and get them out of this mess. Not for the first time he found himself contemplating trying to find his father. There was always a part of him that had wanted to hunt the man down ever since the very first time someone had showed up at their house trying to collect on one of William’s debts. Part of Spencer wanted so badly to go find the man and demand that he step up to the plate. That he handle his own business and his own debts instead of letting his family take care of it all. He wanted to ask him if he knew; if he knew what Spencer had done for him, what he’d been forced to do to take care of a problem that wasn’t his own. And, if so, how could he stand back and let that happen and not help? Not even come find them and say _thank you_?

All of those thoughts plagued Spencer as he bought the groceries with what little cash he had on hand.

He brought the cart out to the parking lot and was busy loading the bags into the back of the station wagon when he heard a voice nearby call out “Son of a bitch. When did you get home, precious?”

Despite everything going on, the sound of that voice brought a smile to Spencer's lips even as he rolled his eyes at the nickname. Only one person in the world called him that. The only person he’d let get away with talking to him that way. Straightening up, Spencer turned around and found himself facing his closest friend—the only real friend he had. “Juju, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

The man that was strolling towards him was someone that most people would never pair up as a friend with someone like Spencer. Wherever he went, Juju drew attention his way, and not all of it was good. He was shorter than Spencer and lean like him, too. Today, the man was dressed in his usual flamboyant style with a pair of black leggings that were patterned to look like neon paint was dripping down his legs and he had an oversized red shirt over it which hung to mid-thigh and also draped off of one slender, pale shoulder. Black boots came halfway up his calf, the heels on them giving him an extra few inches. He had on a black velvet choker that had a silver charm dangling from it with a red jewel in the center. His black hair was scooped up and held back with his customary chopsticks, leaving the long expanse of his neck open in what Spencer knew was a deliberate tease.

Spencer opened is arms just as Juju got close and accepted the hug he knew was coming. The two of them looked so unlikely together—“The nerd and the whore” as Juju laughingly called them—but they’d been friends since Juju had saved Spencer's life when he was just thirteen years old. There was no one else that Spencer could think of that he trusted more. Juju had been there for him right from the get-go. He’d saved his life and then he’d helped to teach Spencer how to survive in a world that often terrified and confused him.

“Are you supposed to be at school still?” Juju demanded as he pulled back. He held on to Spencer's waist and his eyebrows furrowed down as he looked him over. “Something’s happened. What is it? What’s going on? And don’t you tell me you’re fine, precious. I’m nowhere near as stupid as I pretend to be.”

Of course he wasn’t. Juju was extremely bright; Spencer knew that better than anyone. “I…it’s a long story, Juju.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before Juju stretched up and pressed a kiss to Spencer's cheek, ignoring the blush there the same as he always did. “Okay, precious. Why don’t you go on home, go take care of this food and your Mom, an I’ll get the wine and come meet you at your place after lights out? Then you can tell Aunty Juje all about what’s going on.”

A soft laugh ticked the back of Spencer's throat. It came out sound a little more broken than he liked, if the look on Juju’s face was anything to go by. “You’re one in a million, Juju.”

“It’s why you love me!” The man said in a sing-song voice. He grinned and squeezed Spencer's waist before letting go. “Now, get on home to your Mom and I’ll be by later on. And then you’re telling me everything, precious! Don’t think you’re getting out of it!”

* * *

Just as he’d said, Juju showed up right after ‘lights out’. He knew Spencer well enough to know that any time after ten was a perfect time to swing by. That was after dinner, showers for both Spencer and Diana, time for a nightly argument about meds, and then any other household things that Spencer needed to get done. By the time a knock sounded at the front door, Spencer was more than ready for the wine as well as his friend.

Spencer opened up the door to find his friend standing there grinning at him with a bottle held up in each and. “A bottle of red and a bottle of white.” He ran his eyes over Spencer, who was dressed down to plaid pajama bottoms, socks, and a Caltech sweater, and smirked at him. “Cute jammies.”

He chose to ignore the comment on his jammies. “I’m not peeling you off the floor later.” Spencer said dryly. He knew how Juju could be with too much alcohol in his system.

The man just grinned broadly at him. He waited for Spencer to pull the door open wide and then strolled right inside. “Like I’d sleep on the floor. If you think you’re getting out of sharing that bed of yours, you’re sadly mistaken, sugar plum.”

Spencer rolled his eyes again and shut the door behind him. Then he followed Juju in to the living room, taking a moment to snag the wine glasses and corkscrew that he’d set out on the counter as he went. When he got into the living room he found Juju already sitting on the one corner of the couch, his shoes off and his legs curled up. It was easy for Spencer to fold himself down onto the other end of the couch. Everything with Juju was easy. The man made Spencer feel more comfortable than anyone ever had—when he wasn’t busy purposely making him uncomfortable. He loved to tease Spencer and make him blush. But there was no one that Spencer had ever known who was kinder or more loyal than Juju. Once he’d decided that he and Spencer were friends, nothing was going to change his mind. It didn’t matter to him that Spencer hadn’t really ever had any friends before and didn’t know how to act with one. He just fit himself right into Spencer's life and made himself at home. Over the years, he’d drawn Spencer out, getting him more and more comfortable around him. Now, Juju was one of the only people that Spencer felt he could honestly relax with. It was a wonderful feeling.

He passed the corkscrew over to Juju, who immediately set about opening up the bottle of red wine. While he did that, Spencer got himself comfortable, curling his own legs up and tucking his feet in while turning himself so that he was facing towards his friend.

“So,” Juju said, the tip of his tongue poking out as he gave a final tug that popped the cork on the wine. A grin spread over his face and he tossed the corkscrew and cork over onto the coffee table. Then he turned his attention right back to Spencer. “Spill, precious. What’s got you back in Vegas? You just started your Spring semester a month back— you shouldn’t be back on any kind of break yet.”

Spencer passed a glass over for Juju to fill. “Seven weeks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Rolling his eyes, Juju poured the first glass and handed it over. “You started your Spring semester _seven weeks ago_.” He took the next glass and poured it for himself before setting the bottle on the coffee table. “Point being, you’re home when your perky little ass should be at school. So, what gives?”

To give himself a moment, Spencer took a sip off the wine, enjoying the flavor. No one could say Juju didn’t have good taste in wine. It was a great bottle to get himself drunk with. And if Spencer had his way, he was going to be very drunk before this night was out. Sighing heavily, he sank lower into his seat and tipped his head to rest against the back of the couch. As he closed his eyes. In short, simple terms, he laid it all out. From the phone call from his mother up to his arrival here, as well as every little fact he’d been able to draw out of his mother. By the time he was done, he’d already emptied his glass and Juju had poured him another.

When he trailed off, his friend whistled lowly. “You said she told you the one guy had a big scar over his eye? His right eye?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.” Grimacing, Juju took a big drink off his own glass. “That sounds like the Campbell brothers. They’re new to town but they’ve got a bad rep. If your Dad was dumb enough to bet with them…they’re not a nice family, Spencer. At all.” There was worry on Juju’s face now and that really didn’t help Spencer's nerves.

It took effort to make his voice come out sounding somewhat normal. “So I take it getting an extension would be out of the question, then.” Great. Just, great. Tipping his glass, Spencer drained it all in one go. There was not enough wine in the world to deal with this tonight. He rested his glass against one knee and used his other hand to wipe over his face. “What am I going to do, Ju? Between bills here and paying for what my scholarship doesn’t cover, I’ve barely been able to put away anything. Everything extra I’ve had has gone into savings but it’s nowhere near enough.”  He hated the thought that he was going to have to use their savings. Every spare bit of money he’d gotten had been put into there in the hopes of being able to get his mother the proper medical care she deserved. Now, it was going to be lost in an attempt to pay back these people his bastard of a father had gambled with. “I can’t let them hurt Mom, but I don’t…I can’t do this again, Ju. I can’t. I can’t go through that again.”

“We’ll figure out something.” Juju said firmly. He reached out and drew Spencer's hand off his face and then slid their fingers so that they slotted together. He knew better than to try and hold Spencer's wrist; it would only panic him. “I don’t know what yet, but we’ll figure out something. I’m not gonna let them take you, you hear me, sweetheart? I won’t let them take you.”

They both knew that there was nothing that Juju could do about it if Spencer didn’t come up with the money. There was no way to stop them then. Just as they both knew that Spencer would go willingly with these men if it meant keeping his mother safe.

“Just have faith, precious. If anyone can find the answer to this, it’s us. We’ll figure out something. You just gotta have a little faith.”

Unfortunately, faith was the one thing Spencer didn’t have.

* * *

It was two days later—two long, stressful days during which Spencer tried and failed to find a way to get himself out of this hole—before Juju came bursting into back into Spencer's house with some cockamamie plan in mind.

Spencer stood in his kitchen and stared at his best friend in stunned shock. “You want me to _what_?”

“Don’t look at me like that, precious!” Juju hopped up onto the counter beside Spencer and braced his hands on the edge, leaning in so that he was more eye to eye with him. “Just hear me out, all right? It’s not like we’ve come up with anything better and we both know you’re running out of time here.”

“That doesn’t mean that I’m going to just…just _marry_ someone I don’t even know!” Spencer shot back. He focused on chopping the vegetables in front of him and tried not to flush from his friend’s words. How could Juju even make a suggestion like that? When he’d spoken with Juju about all of this he hadn’t really expected anything to come of it. He really hadn’t expected Juju to come to his house with a suggestion that Spencer marry some stranger who could apparently solve all his problems.

“Just, listen for a minute, Spencer. I know it sounds crazy but just listen.” Juju said. The fact that he used Spencer's name, not the annoying ‘precious’ or any of the other nicknames he liked to use, was enough to have Spencer reluctantly paying attention. It was a sign of just how serious his friend was. “I’ve been trying and trying to figure out a way to handle this and I keep coming up blank, and I know you are too. This is a shitty situation your dad got you in an your chances of getting out of it are even shittier.”

“Yes, I’ve realized that.” Spencer said dryly. He scraped the cut up carrots into the bowl and pulled out the celery next. He needed to get this all together and in the slow cooker. His mother always loved roast; she’d enjoy having it for dinner tonight.

One of Juju’s hands came up to brush a bit of Spencer's hair behind his ear. “You know I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think it was a good idea, Spencer.”

“Do you realize what it is you’re suggesting here, Juju?” Laying his hands flat on the cutting board, Spencer made himself look up at his friend, made him meet Juju’s eyes without flinching back. This was too important. “You’re not only suggesting that I marry a man I don’t know just to pay off a debt—you’re suggesting I marry the soon-to-be Guildmaster of the Vegas Thieves Guild. The _Prince_ , if I’ve heard my stories right. How on earth is that any better living a life fighting off the men my Dad associates with? How is that any less risky?”

“Because as husband to the Guildmaster, you’d be protected. You’d be _safe_ , precious.”

“I’d be at risk from a whole new set of enemies.” Spencer shot back. “I may not be the most socially knowledgeable but even _I_ know how some politics work and just how dangerous a place that would be. How am I supposed to keep my Mom safe in a life like that?” That was what was most important to him. The risk to himself, that was something Spencer could take. He could handle whatever came his way. It was the risks posed to his mother that scared him.

Juju knew that, too. He knew it and had already thought of an answer for it. His reply came too quickly to be spur of the moment. “Your Mom would be well protected in an easily secured place getting the proper care she needs.”

That was enough to have Spencer straightening up a little. “I beg your pardon?”

“I knew there was no way you’d do anything that put your Mom at risk, precious. I’d never ask you to. When I talked to Uncle Tim, I mentioned your Mom. He told me your Mom would be safe. If you went through with this, Remy would pay for her care in a place of your choosing as well any security necessary to keep her safe while she’s there. Uncle Tim says Remy was raised in a home where there’s nothing more important than family. Even without asking, taking care of your Mom would’ve been done.”

That stunned Spencer into silence. He froze, just staring at Juju for a moment. The idea of marrying someone to simply pay off a debt and to save himself had seemed almost insane. If these men didn’t kill him, if they just took him and hurt him, the pain would be bad but it would also eventually _end_. Marrying someone signed him up for a lifetime shackled to a person he didn’t know and who could very well be just as bad as the men Spencer was trying to avoid. Spencer was desperate but he wasn’t _that_ desperate. But…to protect his mother…

There was nothing that Spencer wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Everything he did, he did for her. He’d been protecting her since he was just a child and it had become so much a part of him since then he didn’t know if he could ever actually stop. Her health and wellbeing came first and foremost in his life. All of his money had gone into savings in the hopes of one day being able to afford the healthcare that she needed. Hell, her care had even been one of the deciding factors when he was contemplating Jason Gideon’s job offer. One of the things he’d thought about with that job was that he’d be able to afford to get her proper help.

If he married Remy, it apparently included everything Spencer could’ve wanted for his mother. Proper care, security to keep her safe, the whole nine yards. Everything that he wanted for her. All he had to do was sign his life over to this man he didn’t even know and Diana would be safe. Not just now, but from any future trouble as well. Even if Remy tried to renege on some of it, his name alone would offer a small level of protection. Could Spencer really walk away from this offer? It wasn’t like he had any other options sitting in front of him. There was no way he could get together three million in the next five days. It just wasn’t possible, not without him going out and committing one hell of a crime.

“Okay.” Spencer said softly. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Okay. For Mom.”

Reaching out, Juju curled his hand around the back of Spencer's neck in a touch meant to offer support and comfort both. “Everything I’ve heard about him says he’s a good man, precious.” He murmured against Spencer's hair.

The young genius drew in a shaky breath and blew it back out slowly. He followed the touch on his neck and leaned in to press his forehead against Juju’s shoulder. Leaning there, he tried to draw on the comfort of his friend to steady himself. “It doesn’t matter.” He whispered. “So long as he keeps Mom safe, the rest of it doesn’t matter. I can handle it. I just need her safe.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The kitchen fell silent as the two friends leaned into one another, one offering strength and one drawing what he could, while the both of them hoped that this wasn’t going to turn into one giant mistake that wouldn’t be able to taken back.


	3. Chapter 3

Remy couldn’t believe that he’d let Timothy talk him into this. Kicked back in his chair, he stared across his office and tried not to scowl at the wall. This was such a stupid idea. Why had he let Timothy convince him to do it? Marrying some strange kid he’d never met before was just plain idiotic. Remy had read the file Timothy had given him on Spencer front to back, over and over, memorizing every little detail they had about him. It wasn’t exactly the most glowing of recommendations.

On paper, he looked like some goody two-shoes. A child prodigy, graduating high school at twelve, starting college just shy of fourteen, first degree by fifteen, first doctorate by _sixteen_ , his next doctorate by eighteen and he was currently working on a _third_. He was smart—too damn smart for his own good. An only child raised by his mother since he was ten after his father left them. Everything about him suggested that he was a quiet, decent type who spent his time in libraries, more comfortable with books than people. Not exactly someone that Remy really wanted to tie himself down to, especially considering his own personal life.

Things changed a little when he got the more personal reports from Timothy, who got them from Juju—apparently, Spencer's best and _only_ friend. According to them, Spencer was a quiet man, yes, but life had made him that way. He’d been taking care of a mentally ill mother for most of his life, even more so after his father left them, while all the while trying to also handle any debt collectors that came sniffing around trying to extract their money from the wife and child of the man that owed them. There were only so many ways a person could get together that kind of money without being rich. And nothing in Spencer's finances suggested the kid was anywhere near rich. If anything, he leaned more towards the other side of the spectrum. Remy hadn’t been able to keep from sneering when he saw how poorly Spencer and his mother had lived over the years, and how well off William Reid appeared to be living.

Timothy had also told Remy that Spencer was a lot scrappier than his looks indicated. He swore that Juju had taught him how to handle a blade, which Remy had to admit was pretty impressive considering Juju was extremely talented with pretty much any kind of blade.

“He’s smart, Remy, and he’s a survivor.” Timothy had insisted. “Don’t let the scrawny look fool you. Okay, yeah, he’s not a fighter. But he’s freaking brilliant, and he’s damn good at keeping alive. He’s done it for years now. You know I trust Juju. If anyone would know about the skill someone’s hiding, it’d be him. An he says this kid is legit.”

So, apparently this kid had hidden depths underneath the nerd look he put forward. Remy could appreciate that. He could also appreciate the bit of respectability that a marriage to him would garner. It would only serve to make Remy look a little better on paper to some people. But he didn’t need some terrified _kid_ as his partner in this. He needed someone who was going to be able to stand up beside him. Someone who would be able to survive in his world. Looking at the picture in Spencer's file, he just wasn’t sure that Spencer was that person.

Still, he was pleasant to look at. Remy had looked at the pictures in his file. The kid was on the skinny side, looking in serious need of a few solid meals. But there was a nice body underneath those geeky clothes he wore. The cardigans and sweater vests had made Remy snort a little. It was Spencer's face that had caught his attention, though. That face. The artist in him wanted to capture that face somehow. In pencils or paints or charcoal, maybe. There was just something about those high cheekbones, that full bottom lip, the wide eyes that looked so innocent, even the loose bits of that shaggy brown hair that slipped down into his face. One picture caught Spencer as long fingers were pushing a bit of hair behind his ear and his head was ducking down shyly, like he was avoiding the camera, while Juju was laughing while hugging him around his waist in an pose obviously made for the camera. Remy had looked at the picture and admired those long fingers, that sweet face, and the lone, pale line of his throat. Yes, Spencer Reid was most definitely attractive. But Remy needed a marriage based on more than just a simple attraction.

The problems Spencer was currently having didn’t put Remy off at all. Taking care of them wasn’t any sort of big deal. Remy could handle paying Spencer's debt. He wouldn’t even flinch over it. And helping out his mother? Well, that was just what family did. You took care of your own. The fact that Spencer was so adamant on taking care of his mother and getting her the proper care that she needed was a giant point in his favor.

It was all this big mess and Remy had no idea why he was even agreeing to it all. Yet here he was, once more slouching in one of the chairs in his office—one of the guest chairs, not the one behind his desk, because Timothy insisted that he didn’t want to intimidate the kid right from the get-go—waiting for Spencer to show up. Timothy had gone to get him an hour ago so the two of them should get there any moment.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Remy’s week was almost up, he wasn’t sure he would’ve agreed to this at all. But he was running out of time and options. From what Timothy had said, so was Spencer. They were both up on week time limits, though Spencer's came due a day or so earlier than Remy’s did. He had even less time than Remy did right now.

The light rap of knuckles against his door drew Remy out of his thoughts. He looked up as the door opened and Timothy stuck his head in first. A gesture from Remy had him opening the door wider and then stepping inside. Remy deliberately stayed seated and watched as Timothy moved out of the way and gave him his first face to face glimpse of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Well, ‘kid’ had definitely been a good term for him. Spencer looked so very young as he moved into the room. Whether it was the clothes, or the shy look on his face, he looked far younger than twenty years for a moment. Then, as Remy pushed to his feet, he got his first glimpse of the boy’s eyes and, no, young definitely wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the look he saw there. There was something else there hidden behind the innocence that Remy had seen in the photos. A hint of something more underneath everything else; a soul that had seen or done far more than his years would suggest. Remy had always had good instincts about people; it was one of the things that made him damn good at his job. His instincts told him there was a lot more to this _kid_ than met the eye.

He didn’t voice any of that out loud. On the outside, Remy put on a polite smile and held out his hand. “Dr. Reid. It’s a pleasure to meet y’.”

There was a brief hesitation before Spencer shook his hand as well. His grip wasn’t strong like some men had, no attempt to display strength or such through a handshake, but nor was it weak. It was just quick and slightly nervous, much like the man himself. He shook Remy’s hand and then drew quickly back, reaching up to tuck a bit of loose hair behind his ear. The smile he gave Remy was just as nervous, yet sweet. So very damn sweet. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. LeBeau.”

“Oh, now, none of dat.” A smirk touched Remy’s lips. “Y’ go on an call me Remy. I t’ink y’ got dat right, considering what we’re here to discuss.” Gesturing for Spencer to take the other chair near him, he sank down into his own once more, deliberately letting himself sprawl out a little. Through long lashes he discreetly watched Spencer.

His comment brought a blush to Spencer's cheeks that Remy couldn’t seem to label as anything but _adorable_. “Then please, call me Spencer. Or Reid. Whichever. Most people just seem to call me Reid.”

He was babbling. Nerves, most likely. Remy smiled at him in the hopes of putting him at ease. “I t’ink I like Spencer. A bit more personal, dat.”

The boy’s blush grew deeper and his gaze dropped down like he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Why don’t y’ tell me about y’rself, cher?” Remy asked. Maybe if he could get Spencer talking, see him a bit from his side, they might both feel a little more comfortable with things.

Spencer brought a hand up and brushed a bit of hair back from his face. It surprised Remy, just how much he wanted to lean over and take a bite of the long, pale line of his neck. “I’m, um, I’m at college right now. I’m studying for my doctorate in engineering. It’ll be my uh, my third.”

Remy already knew that, of course. He knew quite a bit about Spencer. But it was different hearing it from his own mouth. “What’re y’ plannin’ on doing with all dem degrees? Any plans fo’ y’r future? If all dis shit wasn’t in y’r way, dat is.” That was kind of an important thing to worry about. Did Spencer already have big plans that he was hoping to complete one day? Dreams that he was trying to achieve? The last thing Remy wanted was to squash some kid’s dreams.

There was a brief moment where Spencer paused. Whether it was hesitation, or him trying to figure out what to say, or something else, Remy wasn’t sure. But then Spencer was shrugging his shoulder with a casualness he probably didn’t want Remy to realize was forced. “I’ve had a few job offers. A few, companies, have tried to gain my interest.”

“Had some headhunters come round, hm?” Not surprising, considering the man’s intelligence. “Anyone good?”

Again, Spencer shrugged, and this one really was casual. “A few decent offers. Marco Inc., the Sullivan Group, Stark Industries, Vandervault. I turned them down, though. None of them—I wasn’t all that interested.”

Shock kept Remy sitting still. It took him a moment to realize he was gaping at Spencer like some fool. “Y’…turned dem down?” He couldn’t quite believe it. Spencer had had offers from all of those companies and he’d _turned them down_? They were all leading names in their industries. Security, technology, chemical advancements, biological engineering. Remy knew there were people who would sell body parts to be recruited by one of those companies. And Spencer had turned them down!

A hint of a blush touched Spencer's cheeks again. His eyes dropped down and Remy watched as long lashes shielded his eyes in a look that was so damn innocent and sweet it made his gut clench. “I just, I wasn’t interested.” Spencer repeated lowly, a bit embarrassed, a bit uncomfortable, and so many other things that took Remy’s voice away.

Reading Spencer's file hadn’t at all prepared Remy for how charming he’d find this shy, nervous kid. He was far more enchanted by him than he’d thought he’d be. But at the same time, he looked at him and he just, he couldn’t see drawing Spencer into his life. His world would rip this poor boy apart. Spencer had a life ahead of him. A future. He wasn’t even twenty-one yet, was still in college, and he already had these amazing offers. What kind of life could he have in five years? Ten? Definitely something better than getting dragged down into Remy’s world.

How could he have thought to make a deal like this with anyone, let alone this wet behind the ears _kid_? This was a giant mistake. Spencer was—he was sweet. Sweet and, despite the aged look to his eyes, still far too innocent for the world of the Guilds. Remy wouldn’t deny that he was attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? Even in his geeky clothes he was a mouthwatering morsel. But to bring him into the life this way, no, he just couldn’t do it. The people here would eat him up and spit him back out.

“ _Je suis désolé._ ” Remy said smoothly. He pushed up from his chair and smiled sadly down at Spencer. “It was nice to meet y’, Spencer, _mais_ I t’ink maybe dis was a bad idea. Y’ seem very sweet. I jus’ don’t t’ink dis would work out.”

Trying to ignore the way that Spencer was looking at him, the shock and the fear that hit there, Remy turned and started to head towards where Timothy stood by the door. It was surprisingly hard to make himself walk away. There was a part of him that wanted to turn back around and go back to Spencer. To talk to him and see how maybe they could work something out. But, no. He couldn’t do that to him. Maybe he’d see about helping him out another way. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he wasn’t what Remy needed. He couldn’t let him suffer because of that.

He was only a few steps away when Spencer's voice suddenly filled the air with a question that surprised Remy into stopping.

“How about a wager?”

* * *

“How about a wager?”

The words were out of Spencer's mouth before he could stop them. He didn’t take them back, though. He couldn’t. Spencer wasn’t stupid; he could see that Remy wasn’t interested in this. In _him_. He even know when he’d lost him—right when Remy had asked him what he planned on doing with his life. There had been a moment of panic that had flared up there because there was no way in hell that he was going to tell the this _Thief_ that he’d been contemplating joining the FBI. There’s no way that would go over well! As soon as Spencer had started stammering out his response, stupidly listing off the places that had tried to recruit him, he knew he’d lost Remy. He wasn’t sure why. Was it because he saw him going somewhere else? Was he worried Spencer might try to take them up on their offers? Or had that let him see what kind of nerd Spencer truly was? The way the man had looked at him was a look that Spencer was familiar with. It was a look that said that the man had assessed him and found him wanting. Spencer had gotten that look from countless people over the years and he’d learned not to let it hurt him anymore. He knew his own worth and he knew what he was capable of. What did it matter that other people didn’t?

But it mattered with Remy. It mattered what this strange Cajun thought of him. Because Remy was Spencer's only hope here. His marriage to this man was Spencer's last chance at finding a way to keep his mother safe and cared for and taking care of the debts that his father owed. If this didn’t work out—a sick feeling built in Spencer's gut at the thought of what he’d have to do, what those men his father owed might do to him or, worse, to his mother. Spencer would much rather sell himself off to this one man here, Thief though he may be, than go down the other road that lay ahead.

Spencer knew what Remy saw when he looked at him. He saw some scrawny, shy little kid who he probably figured wouldn’t last a week in his world. And maybe he was right. Maybe Spencer wouldn’t. But he was going to give it his best. Whatever it took to keep his mother safe, he’d do it. Even if it meant signing over the rest of his life to this man here.

His offer definitely caught the thief’s interest. Remy turned around to look at him and he arched one of those elegant eyebrows over the top of his sunglasses. “What kind of wager?”

He had to make this interesting for him. He had to show Remy that he was _something_. Men like him didn’t want some crushingly shy little flower at their side. Spencer had known that coming in and he’d tried to tell himself that he wasn’t going to act like that. Only, he’d been thrown off balance when he came into the office and found this gorgeous man waiting for him, and it had left him a bit shyer and more nervous than he’d wanted to be. For some reason, Spencer hadn’t expected to find someone who looked like this. He hadn’t expected to see someone so stunningly attractive.  How could someone who looked like this have a hard time finding anyone to be his partner?

Now that he’d had time to gather his composure and once more pull himself together, Spencer straightened his spine and lifted his chin with a bravado he didn’t feel but had learned well to fake at his father’s knee. “Cards, winner takes all.” Spencer said calmly. “If I win, we go ahead with this marriage.”

“And if I win?” Remy was turned fully to face him now and there was open amusement on his face. There was something else, though. Something that had Spencer wanting to let out a cheer—interest. He was intrigued by Spencer's offer.

Spencer stared right at those sunglasses and imagined the eyes behind them were staring right back at him. “If you win, I walk away and you never have to see me again.”

The words had Timothy wincing. He stepped up to Remy, reaching out to him and murmuring his name lowly, trying to catch his attention. He was cut off when Remy lifted a hand in a bid for silence. The Cajun never turned away from Spencer. “ _If_ y’ win,” And he stressed that ‘if’, making it very clear how little he believed that possibility, “Y’ realize, I aint gonna want a marriage in name only. We do dis and y’ll be mine in every way dat matters, cher. In m’ life, m’ bed, everything, till death do us part. I won’t let y’ go and I don’t share.”

A shiver ran down his spine at the velvet promise in those words. Did Remy really think that would make him turn back? There was nothing Spencer wasn’t prepared to do to ensure his mother’s safety. “Do we have a deal or not?”

The smile that spread over Remy’s face left Spencer feeling like the prey before a very deadly predator. The man reached up and pulled off his sunglasses and no warnings could’ve prepared Spencer for the potency of those devilish eyes. They locked right on Spencer and the young genius swore he could feel the heat from them. “Timothy,” Remy said, still staring at Spencer. “Get us a deck of cards, would y’?”

“Oh, this is such a bad idea.” They heard Timothy mumble. Still, he went over to a minibar against the far wall and pulled out a deck of cards.

Remy gestured grandly towards the far side of the room where there was a couch and two chairs surrounding a coffee table. “After y’.”

Spencer lifted his chin and walked with his spine straight over to the little sitting area. He was about to play a game with the devil and it was going to be the single most important game he’d ever played. The stakes were higher than any he’d ever played before. But he had to win. He just _had to_.

As he sat down on the couch across the table from Remy and met the older man’s stare, he knew it was going to take every ounce of skill he possessed.

“So, what’re we playing here, cher?” Remy asked. He was slouched down in his chair and was smirking over at Spencer with this little curl to his lip like he knew some amusing secret the rest of the room didn’t. “Five card stud? Texas hold’em?” Pausing, he looked Spencer over and his smirk grew a little more. “Go fish?”

_Don’t let him intimidate you._ Spencer forced himself to not flinch back from the mocking words or the very deliberate taunt. Instead, he raised his eyebrows, trying to return the man’s look. “Y our reputation precedes you, Mr. LeBeau. I wouldn't dream of challenging a man of your skills.” Lifting a hand, he held it out to Timothy and smiled. It didn’t escape his notice that Timothy didn’t hand over the deck until Remy gave a very small nod. Ignoring that, Spencer took the deck and opened it, pleased that it was a new one. That meant that Remy couldn’t have done anything to the cards yet to help him cheat. _Because one of us cheating is bad enough_ , his mind mocked him. Spencer ignored that, too. He drew the cards out and set about shuffling them. It was a skill he’d worked hard on even if it didn’t appear so. He’d learned years ago not only how to shuffle well, but how to do it in a way that made him look like he had less skill than he actually did.

Judging by the way Remy was watching him, it was working too. Spencer let that satisfaction fill him as his hands went through the familiar motions. “I was thinking instead of something with a bit more risk.” Leaning forward, he set the freshly shuffled deck down on the center of the table, and if his sleeve slipped just a tiny bit lower than normal, no one noticed it. He sat back in his seat and smiled. “A draw—high card wins. Unless, of course, you don’t want to take that chance. I’m sure I could play that other game if you’re more comfortable. What was it again? Go fish?”

Instead of being offended as Spencer had been half afraid he might be, the Cajun let out a husky laugh that sent delicious little chills down Spencer's spine. “Y’r a bold one, aint y’?” The smirk he wore shifted just a little into something a bit more genuine. The difference was subtle but Spencer saw it. He watched as Remy pushed up in his chair and reached out for the cards. Spencer let himself admire the almost liquid way that Remy moved; if this man was going to be his husband it would be better all-around if he let himself be attracted to him, let himself find things about him to enjoy. It would be easier then.

Remy cut the deck once, twice, three times, and then put it back together. A flash of red showed overtop his sunglasses when he set the deck back down whole once more. “Y’r draw, _monsieur_.”

He was giving Spencer first draw. The young genius swallowed and let just a bit of his inner nerves show free. Leaning forward, he laid his middle finger on the top of the deck and slid the card back towards himself and caught the edge with his thumb, lifting it up with just a small moment of hesitation, a brief flick of his eyes up to Remy and then back down at the card. Then he turned it over and set it down on the table face up.

A ten of clubs.

Remy cocked his head a little. With his sunglasses on, it definitely made it hard to read his face. Whatever it was he was thinking, it must’ve amused him just a little because Spencer saw his lips twitch ever so slightly. He said nothing, though. Just reached out and drew his own card. He held it up for himself first and the silence of the room was almost deafening. Then, he laid it down.

A three of diamonds.

The relief that shot through Spencer was so strong he almost slumped down on the couch. Only by sheer will did he keep himself sitting upright. He looked across the small distance to the man that was going to be his husband and he found that Remy had pushed his sunglasses up and was looking at him head on. Spencer met his eyes without a flinch. A slow smile stretched its way over Remy’s lips until it wrinkled up the corners of his eyes. “Well den.”  Remy drawled. “Congratulations, cher. Y’ just nabbed y’rself Vegas’s most eligible bachelor.”

Spencer had won. He’d actually _won_.

So why did Remy look like he was the one that had won the game?

“Timothy.” Without looking away from Spencer, Remy called out to the guard who had stood witness through this whole proceeding. “Would y’ call up McCray an have him meet me here in two hours? It looks like I’m getting married t’night.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Timothy had picked Spencer up from Juju’s place to bring him down to the Dusty Rose, Spencer had gone with the hope that he would walk away from this meeting with an engagement and a plan. What he definitely _hadn’t_ expected was for his newly acquired fiancée to remain his fiancée for only two hours. “You want us to get married _now_?” Spencer couldn’t help but ask.

Remy flashed him a grin as he made his way over to the desk. “Y’ was lookin’ fo’ a long engagement? An ad in de paper, maybe?”

“No, I just…”

“Don’t worry, cher.” Remy dropped down into the chair behind his desk and the way he looked at Spencer then, that shark’s grin he wore, gave the young genius a clue as to how Remy did his business. Sharp, quick, lulling them in and then moving fast before anyone could realize what was happening or change their mind. “Dis is just de formalities. We’re both on a bit of a time limit, y’ and Remy. Dere’ll be plenty of time fo’ y’ to find de perfect dress or whatever fo’ when we do de more formal ceremony for de Guild later on.”

Spencer's usual reaction to sarcasm and anger was to shut himself down. To ignore it or to deliberately misinterpret it. It wasn’t the best way to deal with things, he knew, but it had saved him a lot over the years. However, he’d presented an image to Remy so far and it wasn’t one that he could just turn his back on now. He couldn’t risk the man suddenly changing his mind once more. Obviously, the slightly snarkier, a bit bolder version of Spencer was the one that had caught his interest. Even if it was just a front he put up. He couldn’t drop it now and risk losing it all. That in mind, he tried his best to mimic that falsely sweet tone that Juju could get when he was trying to mock someone without actually _mocking_ them. “I’ll gladly pick out a dress for you if that’s what you want, but are you quite sure that’s the image you want to present as future leader of this Guild? I wasn’t aware they were so, open here.”

He watched Remy actually startle back from his words a little. Obviously that hadn’t at all been what he’d expected Spencer to say. Then, one hand frozen over his phone, he let out another of those husky laughs of his that suggested someone who’d smoked just a little too much in life. It shouldn’t have sounded half as appealing as it did. “I guess I deserved dat. Y’ aint afraid to call me on m’ shit, Spencer. I like dat about y’.” Pulling his hand back in, Remy gestured at the seats across the desk from him and then folded his hands in his lap. He watched as Spencer sat down. “I need someone dat can do dat. I don’t know what Timmy or Juju told y’ about what y’r getting into here, _mais_ I need someone strong enough to stand at m’ side. Someone who aint gonna be afraid to tell me when I’m being a dick—an I’ve been told I often am. Is dat somet’ing y’ t’ink y’ can do?”

“Yes.” Spencer would’ve promised him almost anything. This, though it went against the grain to promise to something almost guaranteed to make them fight, was far easier than some of the things Remy could’ve asked for.

The way that Remy was looking at him left Spencer feeling as if the man was looking past the shields he was putting up, past this outer shell of bravado down to the scared kid inside of him. It was almost like he knew somehow that this sassy bit wasn’t a side of Spencer that typically came out. It came out with Juju, of course. They had years of friendship to have built the comfort there between them. But with people he didn’t know? This kind of boldness wasn’t like Spencer. He was finding it easier to do with Remy than he’d thought, though.

After a second, Remy nodded a little. “I can’t promise not to get pissy with y’ when y’ tell me. However, I can promise I aint ever gonna do more dan shout at y’. I’ve never abused a partner in m’ life and I aint planning on starting now.”

The sound Spencer made could’ve been taken for agreement or for disbelief. It was the best answer he would give on the subject.  They’d have to wait and see what time said on that one. Spencer was going into this knowing full well that Remy could end up being one of the most abusive men on the planet. That was just a risk he was going to have to take.

“Hm.” Remy hummed low in his throat, but he didn’t push that anymore. Instead, he lifted his arms and folded them on the desk, leaning forward to better look at Spencer. “If we want dis to work, we’re gonna have to make people believe dis is a love match.”

“I know the deal. Juju explained that part clearly.” Spencer said. How could he forget? He knew what he had to do here. “I’ll hold to my end of things. You just make sure to hold to your end of the deal as well.”

Remy huffed out a laugh. “I always do. De name of de men dat y’ gotta pay, do y’ know it?”

That was an easy enough answer. He’d taken the time to confirm Juju’s suspicions not long after his friend had voiced them. “The Campbell brothers.”

Something briefly twisted Remy’s face before it was gone again. “Ah. An dis debt, de three mil, dat’s money dat y’r Poppa owes, _oui_?”

Heat warmed Spencer's cheeks and he had not fight not to look away. It mortified him to sit here and so calmly discuss his father’s debt. It was what he had to do, though, and he’d do it. “It is. For whatever reason, they came to my mother to pay.” The memory of her terrified voice on the phone line, the bruise on her face when he got there, and the rough few days she’d been having since then all boiled up in Spencer and his hands clenched into fists in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was short and clipped, his anger just barely contained. “They threatened her and told her that she had a week to pay. They _hit_ her.”

“Fuckin’ _connards_.” Remy cursed lowly.

The curse had Spencer sitting up just a little more. Hearing that Remy was just as upset by it, actually seeing on his face that he was equally offended by this kind of behavior, gave Spencer a bit of courage. He drew in a breath and steadied himself as best as he could. Getting his mother help was a part of this deal and he didn’t know how much had been told to Remy already. Spencer needed to make sure that Remy knew; that he _understood_. That meant talking about the one thing that Spencer had trained himself not to talk about. “My mother,” A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it down. _I have to do this_. “She’s not well.”

A gesture from Remy had Spencer falling silent. “Y’ don’t need to explain, Spencer. Timothy told me about it. One of de meetings we’re gonna have t’day will be with m’ lawyer to set up a trust fo’ y’r Mama’s care. Taking care of her is part of our agreement here an I won’t leave y’ wondering if dat’ll change, so we’re gonna set up a trust in y’r name to make sure dat she’s taken care of.”

Spencer had no words for that. It was everything he wanted and it seemed far too good to be true. This seemed like some sort of strange dream. Would he wake up soon to find himself lying in his bed, the deadline still looming and no solution in sight? The idea was terrifying. Spencer didn’t want to wake up from this if it wasn’t real. He didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this. But his inquisitive mind had always been his downfall and he couldn’t stop himself from voicing the questions that were pouring through his head. “Why are you doing this?” He asked, first and foremost. “I mean, Juju explained your situation and your reasons for marrying. But why on earth would you pick someone who comes to you with a three million dollar debt and a mentally ill mother for whom he has to care for? You have to realize that my mother’s bills are always going to be there. Her care isn’t a one time, short thing. She will be under medical care the rest of her life. Medicare will pay for part of it, but they won’t cover it all. Why would you agree to take this on? I’m sure there are countless men or women you could find who would happily take my place and would cost you far less.”

“Are y’ trying to talk me outta dis, Spencer?” Remy’s eyebrows went up in amused surprise.

“No, no, of course not.”

“It doesn’t really matter why I chose y’. I’ve got m’ reasons fo’ it. De point is, y’ are m’ choice, Spencer Reid, and I aint planning on changing m’ mind. Are y’?”

Immediately Spencer sat up straighter. “Absolutely not.”

The expression on Remy’s face smoothed out. “So what does de rest of it matter, den? We’re here. Dat’s what’s important. De rest is just details.”

Oh, they were going to have one interesting marriage, Spencer could tell that already. _You can do it,_ Spencer told himself. _For Mom, you can do it._

* * *

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. There was a meeting with Remy’s lawyer, during which Remy put down on paper the promises that he’d made to Spencer about Diana’s care. There were clauses in there, of course. Such as the one that stated that Spencer and Remy had to be married a minimum of five years before the trust for Diana would be transferred solely to Spencer. A smart thing to put in, really. Spencer really hadn’t expected anything less. Nor could he blame Remy for it. It was a way for the Cajun to cover himself on the off chance that Spencer was only in this for the money. He didn’t know Spencer well enough to just _trust_ him. That kind of trust took time to build.

Once they were done with the lawyer, their minister showed up. McCray was a big, cheerful man with a beer belly, a mile wide grin, and a friendliness that somehow magically put Spencer at ease. Twinkling brown eyes peeked out beyond shaggy black hair and he hadn’t stopped smiling once since he came into the room. If he thought it strange that Remy was marrying someone seemingly out of nowhere in his office, he said nothing of it. He was all big boisterous laughs and happy hugs for the two of them.

Spencer felt like his head was spinning. It felt like no time at all before he found himself standing with Remy in front of Pastor McCray and, oh God, this was his _wedding_! He was getting _married_! They’d moved to a room near Remy’s office—the Diamond Room, Remy called it—and they were standing here facing one another, hands clasped between them, and Timothy was standing to the side as their witness, and Spencer was really doing this. He was really standing here marrying this man that, until today, he’d never met. It was insane!

Before they’d moved into the Diamond Room, Remy had briefly caught Spencer outside the door, away from McCray’s eyes. “Are y’ ready fo’ dis, Spencer?” he had asked, eyes more serious than Spencer had seen them so far. “De minute we step in dere, de act starts. I need y’ t’be very sure y’r ready fo’ dis.”

What else could Spencer say here? What else could he do? “I’m ready.”

And now the two of them were standing here together as Pastor McCray began this sham of a ceremony.  Despite the fact that it was just them and Timothy, the Pastor seemed to want to give them a somewhat proper ceremony. The words that were supposed to bind together two in love rang in Spencer's ears as the man’s warm voice filled the room. “Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today with Remy and Spencer to give thanks for the gift of their marriage and to share in the joy of their wedding, Marriage is a way of life, given by God, so that partners may provide each other companionship, help, comfort, joy and most of all love.”

This was really happening. Spencer couldn’t believe it. Here he was, on his _wedding day_. He’d spent so much of his life convinced that he would be alone. To be here, getting married, it was huge. It was amazing. And it was utterly terrifying. He had to fight to keep his fears from showing on his face.

The Pastor smiled at them. “Remy, Spencer, we honor and rejoice with you now as we witness your vows to love each other and to come together as one into the blessed estate of marriage.”

Whatever he said next was lost a little on Spencer as the young genius looked over at the man that was going to be his husband. Remy was standing proud and tall without a hint of worry written anywhere on him. Spencer watched him through slightly lowered lashes. He’d be lying if he tried to say that he wasn’t pleased with how his soon-to-be husband looked. The man sort of hit all of Spencer's personal preferences in a man. Taller than him, strong without being too muscled, a good set of arms and shoulders, that slight hint of a five o’clock shadow—all of those were things that he’d always enjoyed when simply looking at a man. Spencer was self-aware enough to admit that he looked for someone who was strong. Someone who was strong enough to make him feel safe, even for a little while. As he looked at Remy he had a feeling this man could do exactly that.

He was abruptly snapped back into the moment when he heard the Pastor say “Do you, Remy, take Spencer as your husband, promising to tenderly care for him, to respect his individuality, to cherish him as he is, and to faithfully love him continually?”

There was absolutely no hesitation on Remy’s part. He stared at Spencer and firmly said, “I do.”

Pastor McCray turned to Spencer next. “And do you, Spencer, take Remy to be your husband, promising to tenderly care for him, to respect his individuality, to cherish him as he is, and to faithfully love him continually?”

“I do.” Spencer made sure his own voice was just as firm as Remy’s.

“May we please have the rings?”

Spencer only had one split second of panic—he hadn’t thought at all about having rings!—before Timothy stepped up and held out two rings in the palm of his hand. Both were simple gold bands with small diamonds inlaid in them. Remy took one and gestured, smiling, for Spencer to take the other. Watching them, a smile warmed Pastor McCray’s face. “Perfect. Now, these rings are a symbol of eternity and the unbroken circle of love. Remember that love freely given has no beginning and no end, no giver and no receiver, for each is the giver and each is the receiver. Today you have chosen to exchange rings, as a sign of your love for each other and a seal of the promises you make this day. Remy, as you place the ring on his finger, repeat after me.”

Remy smiled at Spencer and spoke in a firm, clear voice as he repeated Pastor McCray’s words, slipping the cool band onto Spencer's finger. “I, Remy, take y’, Spencer, to be m’ husband, m’ partner and life mate. I promise to laugh with y’ in times of happiness and to strengthen y’ in times of need. Through de best and de worst, I will trust y’, honor y’, an be faithful to y’. Today I commit myself to y’ fo’ de rest of m’ life.”

It was Spencer's turn now and it took just a second for him to get his voice to come out. When it did, he was surprised that it was just as steady as Remy’s, without a single quaver to it. His hand was also steady as he slid Remy’s ring onto his finger. “I, Spencer, take you, Remy, to be my husband, my partner and my life mate. I promise to laugh with you in times of happiness and to strengthen you in times of need. Through the best and the worst, I will trust you, honor you and be faithful to you. Today I commit myself to you for the rest of my life.”

“As you begin your marriage, here are a few words to encourage you: Remember being a groom is only for a day but being a husband is a life time commitment.” McCray said. He looked at them both as if making sure his words were sinking in. “Let your love be stronger than your anger. Learn the wisdom of compromise, for it is better to bend than to break. A marriage without compromise is guaranteed conflict. Believe the best of your beloved rather than the worst. Confide in your partner and ask for help when you need it. Remember that true friendship is the basis for any lasting Relationship. Give your spouse the same courtesies and kindness you bestow on your friends.” Reaching out, he curled his hand over theirs. “May life grant you patience, tolerance and understanding. And now, as you enter the greatest journey of your life, in as much as you all have agreed to enter the marriage relationship, having exchanged vows with sincere and devoted hearts, and have given and received rings as tokens of your love, it is now my honor and privilege to pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your spouse.”

Spencer was amazed that no one could hear the pounding of his heart as he looked up into his new husband’s face. The way that Remy smiled at him said that he knew, even if he couldn’t hear it. He let go of Spencer's hands to bring his own surprisingly gentle ones up to cup and cradle Spencer's face between them like he was something so precious. Then an impish grin flashed over Remy’s face and Spencer swore he could almost see the mental shrug the man gave before he yanked Spencer in.

The kiss was no sweet, typical peck on the lips that you see at a wedding, nor some loving little thing like other couples did. Remy pulled him in and kissed him like he meant it, with all the edge and promise that he could. The kiss seared through Spencer's blood and stole his breath until he was dizzy from it all. His body slumped forward without his permission, practically melting into Remy. Any of his shyness, his nerves, all of it was forgotten in that moment under Remy’s talented kiss. All he could do was press up into it and give back everything that he could with open abandon. He forgot they were at their wedding, forgot they had an audience—one of who was a _Pastor_!—and just gave himself over to the sensations that Remy built in him.

When the Cajun finally drew them apart, his hands still gentle on Spencer's face even as they firmly pulled him back, Spencer was pressed up against him completely and was gasping softly in an effort to catch his breath. Yet all he wanted to do was lean back in and kiss him again and again. No one had ever kissed him like that before. No one had ever made him _feel_ like that before.

A bit of heat flashed in Remy’s eyes. “Well.” He murmured lowly, brushing his lips over Spencer's. “Aint y’ a surprise. Got a bit of passion hidden under all dat, cher?”

Spencer was saved from having to answer by a robotic voice loudly declaring “ _Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!_ ”

For one split second Spencer stayed frozen against Remy. It took a moment for his brain to kick back into gear and recognize why he was hearing that voice and what it meant. When he did, the panic kicked in and he knew it had to show on his face because Remy’s smile wiped away. Spencer didn’t waste any time staying there watching him, though. He yanked back from Remy’s hold and scrambled to grab his cell phone from his pocket. He got it out and quickly thumbed open the alert that sat on there, silencing it as the robotic voice was repeating its message. One look at what was there and he was letting out a stream of curses in Latin that had those around him looking in surprise. Spencer didn’t care about them. In a flash he spun on his heel and was darting towards the door.

He made it all the way to the elevator before not only Remy caught up with him, but Timothy as well. Spencer was jamming his fingers against the buttons to try and get the damn thing to open and take him down when Remy suddenly reached around him and hit a quick code to unlock the elevator. “We had it locked so no one could disturb us fo’ dis.” He explained. The doors opened and Remy nudged him in, both him and Timothy following after. As soon as they were inside Remy was looking down at Spencer and demanding “What de hell is going on, Spencer?”

Spencer's hands trembled as he tried to call up the necessary program on his phone. “Someone’s in my house.” He told them, jabbing a button with his thumb harder than he should have. The webcam feature that he’d installed in Charlie finally popped up and Spencer let out another stream of Latin curses. No, no, no!

The elevator doors opened and Spencer once more shot forward, moving before anyone could say or do anything. He was across the floor and out the doors in a flash. He didn’t care about the two following him until Remy’s hand closed over his arm. He spun with a snarl, ready to yank his hand away, only to have Remy yank him towards the side of the building. “M’ car’s over here.”

There was no time for Spencer to do more than give a sharp nod of thanks and follow quickly after his husband. With Timothy in the lead, the three men made their way over to a big black SUV parked in the back parking lot. Spencer scrambled into the backseat while Remy and Timothy took the front, Timothy in the driver’s seat. Spencer didn’t care about how they got there so long as they got him there. He slammed the door shut behind him and then looked down at his phone again. A pained sound tore past his lips. There on the screen, through the camera in Charlie’s eyes, he could clearly see his mother curled up tight inside her bathtub, arms up over her head. She was shaking and crying out in a full on panic. The last image he’d seen had been as Diana had been hurrying to the bathroom, after having slammed her bedroom door shut against three men that Spencer didn’t recognize. There were men in the house— _in his house!_ —with his mother who very obviously wasn’t having one of her better moments.

His hands clenched down on his phone and he had to fight not to hurl it across the car. Lifting his eyes he found Remy looking back at him. “They’re in my house.” Spencer said, throat tight with emotion. “ _In my house._ ”

“Is y’r Mama safe?”

The fact that Remy asked that first, before anything else, raised him up a couple notches in Spencer's books. He let out a breath that shook a little too much and gave a small nod. “For now. She’s barricaded herself in the bathroom. I put a deadbolt on there years ago,” specifically for situations like this, “and I’m the only one that has the key. It should hold, for now.”

“Do y’ know how many dere are? Or who dey are?”

It only took a moment on his phone to minimize the running cam that showed the bathroom, making it a small box in the bottom corner, and bring up the previous footage. As soon as he had a clear shot of the man that had been chasing her, he held his phone out to Remy. The Cajun twisted in his seat to get a better look. One look at the phone had him growling. “De fuckers. Dat’s de Campbell brothers all right. Little fuckin’ _connards_.” He looked up from Spencer's phone and fixed his eyes back on Spencer. “When we get dere, y’ let Timothy and me go in first, y’ hear? Dealing with assholes like dis is part of Timothy’s job.”

Spencer didn’t pay any attention to what Remy was saying. He pulled his phone back in and brought the image of his mother up to full size. She was still in the tub, curled up tight, and every so often she would flinch hard. Charlie, by his best guess, had to be sitting on the edge of the tub. Spencer didn’t have audio engaged; if he did, he imagined he would not only hear the goons, but he’d hear whatever song Charlie was playing to soothe his mother down.

It took Timothy no time at all to get to Spencer's place. As soon as he parked the car at the curb, Spencer had his door open and was racing up towards the open front door, completely ignoring the shouting and cursing behind him. Protecting his mother was one of the most ingrained things in Spencer and nothing was going to get in the way of that. He moved quickly into his house and took off for where he knew his mother was at. When he reached her bedroom, he didn’t even flinch at being met with men with guns. He didn’t get the chance to say or do anything, though. Timothy had moved quickly and caught up with Spencer right as they reached the room. His hand clamped firmly on Spencer's shoulder and yanked him back so that he could step between him and the guns. Remy’s hands were there to catch Spencer before Timothy’s yank could knock him back too far. But then he, too, moved Spencer behind him, though he kept one hand on his arm, giving him a squeeze that was probably meant to be supportive or comforting. _Nothing_ could be comforting at the moment, not when he could hear his mother crying out inside that little bathroom.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the men facing them demanded. The other two stayed silent, keeping their guns steady on them.

Stepping up beside Timothy, Remy looked over the men and arched an eyebrow at them, seemingly unbothered by the weapons directed his way. “M’ name is Remy LeBeau, an I t’ink I’m de one dat should be askin’ questions here. Like who de hell _y’_ are and what y’ t’ink y’r doing here.” His voice was low and smooth, firm in a way that Spencer hadn’t heard before. It was a voice of one who was used to being in charge and who knew the power he wielded, and who wasn’t afraid to use it.

The man who had spoken first snorted at them now and glared right at Remy. “Stay out of this, buddy. This is no business of yours. This is between us and de old broad—you just mind your own business. You and your friends just turn around and get on out of here.”

One of the other guys made a low hissing sound and stepped up beside his friend, gripping his arm, but Spencer didn’t care about whatever they were saying to each other. His mother let out another cry and Spencer's whole body vibrated with the need to go to her. The only thing that kept him from moving forward was the hold that Remy still had on his arm. The Cajun stayed cool and composed as he looked over the men in front of them. “See, now, dat’s where y’r wrong, mec. Dis is very much m’ business. Dat’s m’ mother-in-law y’ve got in dere, and y’ve done terrified her. Now, dat would be bad enough, _mais_ when she’s upset, m’ husband gets upset, and when _he_ gets upset—well, let’s just say I don’t like seeing him unhappy. So!” He flashed them a grin. “Dis is how it’s gonna go. Y’ t’ree numbskulls are gonna lower y’r guns and den we’re gonna go in de living room and discuss dis like civilized folks while m’ husband goes in dere and calms his Mama down.”

“And if we say no?” One of the guys asked.

The smile that Remy wore sent shivers down Spencer's spine. “Den Timothy and I will very happily remove y’ and y’ can scurry back to y’r boss wit’ y’r tails between y’r legs an explain to him how y’ managed to piss off de Prince and get blacklisted by de T’ieves all in one move, hm?”

Later on, Spencer would be amused and a little impressed at how quickly everyone moved out of the way after that.

As soon as the way was clear he darted forward and pulled the key out of his pocket to unlock the bathroom door. The cry that his mother gave when he hurried into the room ripped at his heart and made his eyes burn with the tears he refused to share. Damn them. _Damn them_! Spencer didn’t bother to shut the door all the way behind him. He took a few steps towards her and looked to Charlie, who was balancing on the side of the tub near her. “Charlie, CS12.”

The shortened command was obeyed instantly. The panels on Charlie’s back lit up with the low blue, yellow, grey combination that they’d discovered to be so soothing for Diana when she was truly stressed. At the same time he started to play soft lullabies. Brahms Lullaby came first, soft and low in the small room. Spencer hummed along with it as he carefully came forward and knelt down beside the tub. The last thing she needed was to look up and see someone towering over her. He put himself down low and made sure his head was below hers, resting against the tub’s edge, when he started to speak to her in a quiet voice, beginning the calming-down process that he’d done so many times in his life.

Spencer had no idea how long it took them. But by the time Remy appeared in the door to check on them, Spencer had managed to administer the emergency sedative from the bathroom draw and Diana was half asleep in his arms. Charlie had crept over to them and was in Diana’s lap, his lights softer than before, soothing, and ‘You Are My Sunshine’ was playing now. From his spot seated on the side of the tub, Spencer looked across the room at his husband and met his eyes, never once breaking in his own soothing murmurs. He didn’t flinch away, didn’t try to hide what he was doing or what was going on. There was nothing for him to be ashamed of here. His chin lifted a little as pride with pride.

There was open sadness on Remy’s face, but his lips curved up ever so slightly at Spencer's show of pride, and he gave him a small nod. Then, almost silent, he backed out and left them there.

Spencer watched the door for a moment and wondered to himself what that had been about. Then, as he felt his mother slump a little more against him, he shook his head and put it out of his mind. There’d be time to focus on it later. Right now, he had to deal with what was actually important. Later he could try and figure out the man who, so far, hadn’t reacted to anything the way that Spencer had expected him to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story cuts off here, which may feel abrupt, je sais. Mais, the next is a one shot story that’ll be their wedding night, and after that is the ‘meet the parents’ between Spencer and Jean-Luc…and a few extras. Je suis désolé if you guys aren’t entirely pleased with this being broken up into chunks and made into a series. It just works easier for me. It’s easier to work on things, less pressure, if it’s broken up like this.
> 
> So, let me know what y’ thought of this story! Even if it’s just a short blurb to snip at me for making this so short, don’t be afraid to let me know!


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